


Integrated Circuitry, Paused

by BlushingNewb



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Intercrural Sex, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Romance, Sherlock gets a bit overwhelmed but it's ok, Smut, Stream of Consciousness, Virgin Sherlock, bit of praise!kink Sherlock, johnlockgift challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:12:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2069529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlushingNewb/pseuds/BlushingNewb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Under certain conditions, processing sensory information can be a little more challenging than anticipated.</p>
<p>Sweet and fluffy PWP all the way through. UPDATE: Now with fanart!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [testosterone_tea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/testosterone_tea/gifts).



> Happy summer, testosterone_tea! I'd also like to give a shout-out to my two wonderful betas, gowerstreet and AllTheThings - thank you both so much.
> 
> And please check out Chapter 2, where you can find our Sherlock as represented by the talented and generous ConfuzzledThingzz.

Months, no, years, of longing looks, of lingering smiles, of swallowed up phrases, withdrawn fingers, bowed heads, shuffling feet and might-have-beens, all, yes, all, finally banished. Because now, yes, now...

Now was for Sherlock’s chin being tickled by sandy hair while John Watson nibbled at the exposed flesh of his chest.

_Was that nibbling? Couldn't be kissing. Kissing uses more suction. Not licking, though. Lips applied to surface of skin, bit of teeth exposed, more than grazing. Irregular pattern, unpredictable._

He could feel John's breath against his skin, the increased respiration. John's pulse was elevated, 123 beats per minute, Sherlock could feel that heartbeat through the fingers that were touching his skin.

_John is incredibly aroused by me, as much as I am by him. To note: my own increased respiration, heightened pulse, increased blood flow, particularly into the erection pressed against John's hip._

And John hummed. It was a pleased noise, perhaps it was a groan? But it didn't matter, because now his lips were coming up again to lay siege to Sherlock's neck.

_Never was sensitive when Janine touched it, and the only other sensation registered with Janine when kissing was moistness. That, and motion, nothing of interest, boring, just like any other physical contact with others. Nothing before produced results like this._

But John...John got into his mind and worked his way outward and now he was touching Sherlock's body, and rubbing himself against Sherlock, and it was a locked room murder, and dancing men, and Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto in D major all at the same time with unsorted tobacco ash sprinkled on top.

John, for whom all the pillars of the Palace had rearranged themselves and the rooms were bloody furnished, and there wasn't a single place he wasn't allowed to go.

And now there were fingers running up through Sherlock's hair, twining about, until one or two of them grazed against his scalp.

_good god I don't even know how to describe that no previous data._

And his hands reached down without forethought to grab at John, clumsily, he had no purpose in mind.

_when did that happen, how did it?_

Over the shoulders, over his arms, one was marginally weaker, but the left, the gun hand, was thicker, and oh god the fingers in his hair drew him down and again there was the kissing.

"Sherlock."

_more of the kissing._

"Sherlock?"

_more?_

Sherlock's lips sat motionless against some rough stubble, poised next to John's mouth, readied for action.

"Sherlock, love, you alright?"

A question of that nature should probably receive an answer.

"......" for a time. Then: "good. Um, good. Just..." Sherlock was at a loss for words again, yet another of the phenomenons induced by his conductor of light, John Watson.

"'Cause you seemed a bit overwhelmed there."

Smallish hands cupped themselves around his cheeks. It was pleasing. Sherlock could fit his face there like it was made for those hands. Sentiment.

"Er...processing."

Silence. One thumb from dominant hand rubbed along right cheekbone.

"Ah. Er...right. Do you need me to stop? Slow down?"

The other touching had stopped for the most part, along with the kissing.

"No-o," Sherlock voiced, not really knowing what else to say, although something did cross his mind.

_Put your hands anywhere on my body you want, along with anything else of yours you want there so that I can feel it see it taste it smell it hear it in the more than ten million iterations that undoubtedly exist._

But that might have been a bit much, so instead Sherlock said, "Come to bed with me," which sufficed, because he soon found himself thoroughly and happily overwhelmed there indeed.

* * *

John woke up in a place that, several years ago, he would have believed the least likely in the world. He thought to get up and swing his feet to the floor as he did every morning, but was prevented in doing so by a long, smooth arm lying across his chest. It wasn't impeding any movement, but he found himself so enamored of Sherlock's newfound display of intimacy that any desire he had to move evaporated.

He remembered last night's hurried and feverish coupling, and blushed as he recalled the sweet, whispered confessions of mutual adoration and desire that they had shared - years' worth, that finally boiled into explosive satisfaction for both of them. John grinned; his favorite endearment by far was the comparison Sherlock had made of John to a symphony orchestra playing in the background while Sherlock performed a cadenza.

John frowned slightly as he felt a patch of skin on his abdomen prickle as he breathed. They'd both apparently lapsed into unconsciousness immediately after climaxing, and John was becoming increasingly aware that they had not tidied up in the slightest. Dried semen had a distinct feel to it.

"John," said a muffled baritone voice, coming from the dark head pressed into the pillow. It wasn't a question, but a statement that contained no small measure of satisfaction. The arm gripped more tightly around John, and the head raised itself from the pillow with a Herculean effort. Luminous eyes blinked and a slow smile spread on Sherlock's face.

"Morning, Sherlock," John said in a bright voice.

Sherlock waggled his eyebrows and abruptly flung himself onto John's body. He rubbed his head under John's chin, catlike, and John thought this was easily the most charming part of the whole experience - clingy morning-after Sherlock. John affectionately ran his fingers through messy curls and Sherlock sighed in satisfaction. They lay there for some time, John stroking Sherlock's hair while he laid an ear against John's chest. John wondered if he was making deductions from his heartbeat when he felt the skin on his stomach pull oddly again.

"Mmm," John said. "We really need a wash."

Sherlock shifted minutely.

"Obviously. My chest itches because of the ejaculate you put there.”

John, who thought he was really too old for this sort of thing, blushed anyway and said, "Well, you left yours all over my belly."

Sherlock raised his head and smirked.

"Didn't hear you complaining," he drawled, and John's morning erection, which had remained at half-mast throughout their snuggling, began to thicken hopefully.

"So, shower," John said, pushing Sherlock aside and flinging the covers off himself. When he got to the bathroom door, he turned around, well aware that he was giving Sherlock an eyeful. In a light, casual voice, John asked, "Come with me? Two birds with one stone?"

"Why not?" Sherlock said innocently, but when John turned, he gazed for the first time at his bare bum, and committed its shape and dimensions to memory. A lustful stirring began in his groin. He immediately blended the feeling of that bottom in his hands with its appearance, and that inspired him to get up and follow John to the shower.

* * *

There was plenty of hot water in 221b, which generally allowed two separate individual to enjoy luxurious baths and showers on demand. It was particularly useful for a detective who regularly dove into noisome skips and a doctor who required aromatherapy treatment after a trying day at the clinic. 

The two men were happily steaming up the bathroom as they lingered under the hot water. They had cleaned themselves up with an eye to efficiency, occasionally giggling when limbs collided or a partial erection grazed someone. As they had rinsed, though, gazes had turned heated and accidental touches grew more deliberate and frequent.

They were faced away from the showerhead. Sherlock had his nose pressed into the nape of John's neck and his arms around him. John’s hands were encircling Sherlock's, and the two remained motionless for a time, enjoying the sweetness of the moment and the residual spray of the water.

John had been embraced by many partners before, both women and a few men, but being held by Sherlock was altogether a different matter. His cradling of John couldn’t necessarily be described as possessive, but it had a totality to it, and he knew that Sherlock was reading him with as many of his senses as possible. This went beyond observation, beyond deduction. John felt that he was being absorbed by Sherlock, that his every cell was being divined by the genius surrounding him, and his awareness of Sherlock’s intent focus on him was having no small effect.

Sherlock’s hold on him morphed and John’s thread of concentration snapped, because those long violinist's fingers were now trailing up and down his arms. As he reached John's wrists his touch became lighter, teasing - _hot damn he's a fast learner_ \- John was rapidly becoming highly aroused. Sherlock's fingertips grazed over his palms before floating away to rub at his hips, and John made an involuntary upward thrust. Sherlock let out a low laugh.

"That's going to keep happening," John said with amusement. "...so you should stop unless-" and he broke off to grunt incoherently, because Sherlock had just taken John's own hand and wrapped it around his erection.

"Just for a little bit, if you would, John?" Sherlock asked. "So I can add seeing you masturbate in the shower to my data set of knowing about you doing it?"

"Oh, god, you bad man," John groaned as he began stroking himself. He started slow, squeezing his shaft gently, just below the crown, and John luxuriated in the sensation of his foreskin slipping over the glans. Sherlock rested his head on John's shoulder to watch, and the knowledge that he had an audience and that that audience was his long-desired best friend, was intoxicating, and...John had to slow the movement of his hand in spite of all his natural instincts. He thought about Sherlock, the way his body had moved next to him, and the way they'd rubbed up against each other last night, partially clothed, until they both came together.

"Sherlock, you've no idea how many times I did this, thinking about you. God, thinking about what you'd feel like, how you'd sound..." John said brokenly.

Sherlock let out a rich, low laugh. "I can make a very accurate estimate," he said, "but given the circumstances, I'd rather admit that I spent a good deal of time doing the same while thinking about you."

John let out a deep breath and tipped his head back. He simply held onto his cock; further stimulation was not a good idea at this point.

"That's...really sexy. I had no idea you..." John trailed off.

"Masturbated like a healthy man in his thirties?" Sherlock replied. "Lack of previous interest in a partner doesn't necessarily mean lack of sexual drive," he explained, quite candidly in John's opinion. To prompt John into resuming his actions, Sherlock placed his fingers over John's and pumped lightly.

"I'll be honest," John said, "thinking about you getting off in this shower - the same shower I wank in with _alarming_ frequency -  is a huge turn-on. In fact," John said, "I think it's time I insist on a demonstration by _you_."

Sherlock felt his face flame, an unfamiliar yet highly pleasant experience. And that wasn't the only pleasurable sensation - his own prick gave an upward twitch toward his stomach. Apparently this was completely involuntary, triggered entirely by John's request. Fascinating.

He found himself making a strange rasping noise in his throat, unable to clear it in the usual manner, before he croaked out, "Alright."

They shuffled around so that Sherlock was facing the wall and John was behind him. John crooked his head around Sherlock's much higher shoulder and smirked when he saw his erection.

"I haven't found myself in a position to say this very often," John ran his fingers up and down Sherlock's forearms, "but that is an extremely nice cock you have there."

Sherlock let out a gasp and mentally shook himself. He did this to himself all the time, there was no reason that he should be so affected...but John was with him and John would see _everything_...

He pushed aside the rising tide of nervous anticipation and reached for the bottle of his conditioner at the corner of the tub. John placed an array of kisses on Sherlock's upper arm while he watched him pour out a small measure of liquid from a navy container.

"I wouldn't have thought of that," John chuckled. "How much is that stuff? I've smelled it before on you, in your hair...mm." He hummed into Sherlock's shoulder blade and ran the tip of his tongue up and down his spine.

"It's thirty quid," Sherlock managed to say as he wrapped a hand around himself. "It's sufficient for the purpose."

"For thirty quid it had better be," quipped John, and he returned to Sherlock's upper arm to nibble it. He placed one of his hands below Sherlock’s navel, rubbing at the top edge of his pubic hair, and put his other hand over his heart. Sherlock let out an undignified whine with the first upward stroke.

"Ohh, that's it, Sherlock," John encouraged. "Make yourself feel good." Sherlock gasped and bit his lip as he rubbed himself. He found it intensely arousing that John could feel him, and he knew immediately that they would have to repeat their fervent frotting from the previous night in the daytime, totally nude, so that they could watch each other, too.

"God, you feel incredible," John looked down. Sherlock's head jerked backwards onto his shoulder.

"John," he moaned.

"Yeah, that's it," John said. "Although, I want...can I do it for you, Sherlock?" he asked. "Can I give you a reach around? I wanna make you come."

There was that noise again from Sherlock's throat. Part of him hoped that John hadn't heard it, while the other part wanted John to hear every possible noise he could make. He felt embarrassment and pleasure all at once, and those emotions manifested themselves into a tingling sensation deep behind his groin. Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut while he thought, simply _thought_ about giving John control.

"Yes," he said breathlessly, removing his hand from himself, "alright."

John ran one hand tenderly up Sherlock's neck into the wet curls at the base of his skull, where he twirled his fingers.

"Beautiful man," he murmured, "gonna make you feel so good," and he circled a hand around Sherlock's prick. His fingertips just managed to touch; John had noticed that Sherlock was well-balanced in every aspect, and he thought that he had never seen such a striking man. John was awash with desire and bliss that someone so extraordinary had chosen to share all of himself with _him_. He kept his other hand on Sherlock’s chest, feeling the tattoo of his rapid heartbeat.

"Sherlock, go ahead and brace yourself against the wall. Put your head down on your arms - you’ll be able to watch that way. Now spread your legs just a bit," John said, drawing on past experience. When Sherlock complied, he rewarded him with an upward stroke, and he huffed out several rapid breaths as his shoulder blades drew back.

"Is it good?" John asked. "I know no one else has ever touched you this way...everyone has different things they like."

Sherlock was absorbed in routing information internally to several of his multiple processors at once. The procedure was usually instantaneous, but now it was slowed, syrupy, flowing like warm treacle. Honey - which he loved, so sugary and spicy - coated every one of his transistors and dripped especially thick over his receivers. His eyes rolled backward and he finally realized that he had been asked a question, by John, whom he could feel touching him, and who was draped around him and Sherlock could see his hand rubbing him and smell his clean sweat at the same time.

In a thick voice, he managed to rumble out, "Good. 'S good. God's sake, don't stop." After that he gave up and abandoned his typical practice of interpreting data for external turnaround so he could solely focus on the sensations coming from his penis, and he helplessly thrust up into the circle, that perfect circle, of John's fist.

_Christ, I might be dying. Nothing has ever felt like this not even last night not ever the only near equivalent is understanding something impossible all at once, and this is like it but not._

John wasn't privy to the slowing stream of Sherlock's consciousness, but he could feel the man in his arms start to writhe and thrust rhythmically. It was gorgeous, watching him take such pleasure from his hands. John wanted Sherlock to have everything, wanted him to know the joy he had in their friendship, the thrill he felt from their adventures, and now this, the ecstasy he took from touching his body.

John tightened his strokes and sped them up, pulling faster on the upstroke the closer he came to the slickened head. He began using some of his favourite moves on Sherlock now, grazing his thumb gently across the sensitive glans on some strokes and adding subtle pressure on the fraenulum with a single finger at intervals. He varied his pattern, keeping Sherlock entirely off balance.

"John!" moaned Sherlock. He bucked up with a hard thrust, groaning “oh, God,” as he banged his head repeatedly against his forearm.

_So responsive_ , thought John. It was delicious to see Sherlock's uninhibited responses and the absolute need of his body. John decided that he wanted him to come, that it was time to push him over the edge, to make him let go all over the wall, and he suspected that there was a surefire method to achieve that.

"God, you're lovely," John said, making sure to speak over the spray of the shower, "Your gorgeous mind…this stunning body that you’re letting me touch. I want to make you come, I love watching you like this, I'm always watching you, you know that? It's you that's got me in the palm of your hand, Sherlock."

There was an audible hitch of breath from Sherlock, and he began to shudder, thrusting irregularly and with an increased desperation. John tried to ignore the ache between his own legs and resisted the impulse to stop and wank himself.

"Fucking brilliant. There's nowhere I'd rather be than where you are. Your mind can tear me apart but you don't for some reason. God, you're always with me, you're in my mind." John was pumping him fast and hard now, had felt his cock jump when he called Sherlock 'brilliant.' That only confirmed John's theory about Sherlock's turn-ons, and it affected him so much he had to refrain from humping any bare skin he could find. He directed his energies back to Sherlock, to praising him.

"You like that, don't you? You love it when I call you 'brilliant,'" John said. "I'll say it every day, Sherlock, because it's always true. Brilliant," he began on an upstroke, then "Amazing," on a downstroke. "Fucking unbelievable. Magnificent." Sherlock's lower body was quaking and his hips bucked up violently every time John spoke.

"Spectacular," John edged as close as possible to Sherlock's ear, his own prick pressing flush against his left arse cheek. "Goddamn wonder of nature," he whispered. "Remarkable, miraculous, unforgettable...."

"Hngh," Sherlock whimpered. "John...I..." he panted, slowing the motion of his body. His mind was in turmoil.

_system meltdown imminent John touching him John surrounding him John watching him him seeing John's hand hearing John speak John inside of him oh god all the doors blown wide for him forever circuitry flooded with John directives to CPUs overloaded too many 0s 1s 0s 01010011 01101000 01100101 01110010 01101100 01101111 01100011 01101011 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 01110011 00100000 01001010 01101111 01101000 01101110 all body sensors full open mind and body coalesce into one never happened before welcome welcome welcome_

"That's it. Genius, my genius, perfect Sherlock. Go on, do it."

Sherlock froze and let out a series of short, sharp cries. John felt a wet warmth trickle over his fingers and slowed the movement of his hand, gently working Sherlock through it. When John let go, Sherlock still clung to the wall, racked by tremors. John kept a hand at his back, concerned that he might actually slither into the tub without support. John had never seen anything like Sherlock's utter surrender, which could best be described as a near-total collapse. He let Sherlock rest against the wall for a bit while he fondled his own very, very hard cock. It wouldn't take long for him to get off, and John was thinking of quietly finishing in order to let Sherlock continue coming down from his (hopefully satisfying) orgasm in peace, when Sherlock finally turned to face him.

He was still gasping like a fish out of water, but he was smiling, too, which John took as a good sign. He bent down and ran his chin over the top of John's head, catlike again, and John pressed a quick kiss to his neck. Sneaking a peek at the wall, John gave a powerful twitch in his own palm; Sherlock had painted two thick, white stripes onto the tile.

"John," said Sherlock tiredly. "That was...well, perhaps I'll think of adequate descriptors later. I liked it. A lot." He grinned and gestured vaguely at John's lower torso. "After that...stellar experience, I'm able to just now think again, and I know what I want to do to you."

"I'm honored, Sherlock. Your first thought isn't of a case, but of me?" John asked teasingly. "I feel very...cherished," John ran a thumb over one of Sherlock's eyebrows. Sherlock nodded down at John's other hand, where he was still slowly stroking himself.

"You can leave off, John, I've enough data for now. I'm going to turn around. Get the conditioner," Sherlock commanded imperiously as he flicked some water onto the wall. John thought to himself that Sherlock was recovering more rapidly now that he had a reason to order him around.

John grabbed the bottle while Sherlock bent himself nearly in half and put his forearms on the rim of the tub, facing the tile again. He wriggled his arse enticingly and at the same time managed to shuffle his feet backwards on the rubber bath mat so that the seam of his upper thighs, the area just beneath his bollocks, was at the level of John's cock. Sherlock pressed his thighs together as tightly as possible and John's mouth went dry. It was an extremely lewd display and John couldn't help imagining all the dirty, filthy things he could do if he parted the luscious white cheeks of that arse just so. He really, really needed to come.

"I've read that this was a common practice in Ancient Greece. Its name is intercrural, though I’ve heard there are some colourful slang terms for it," Sherlock said with a hint of pride in his voice, seemingly pleased with himself that he possessed this sexual knowledge. "I don't have to tell you what to do with the conditioner, do I?" he asked, winking saucily up at John.

"Nope," answered John, forcefully popping the 'p.’ He spread a small amount of product on Sherlock's inner thighs and on himself, then positioned the head of his cock at that inviting crease.

"Just want to warn you," John said, "that this is not going to take long at all. When you came...fuck...it was all I could do not to rub one out right then."

Sherlock let out a chuckle. "Can't say I'm the poster child for stamina. But isn’t it better that you have the option to climax on me, now?" he asked in a low, rumbling voice.

That did it. With a unrestrained grunt, John pushed his prick between those creamy thighs. They had just the faintest dusting of fine, dark hair, and with the conditioner and Sherlock's lovely, athletic squeezing, John felt like he was wrapped in tight, hot silk. A spark lit beneath his pelvis when the loose skin of Sherlock's scrotum caressed the tip of his cock.

"Ngh, feels fucking perfect," John groaned, thrusting wildly. "These long legs of yours...want to come...so good to me, so good...fuck, letting me..."

"Oh," said Sherlock, and he sounded awed. "It's still stimulating, listening to you. I never thought before that I would find sex so interesting."

John wheezed out a laugh and let out a low whimper, "glad you like it. I fucking love this...love it...God, have to..."

"Yesss," Sherlock hissed, "I want that. I want you to orgasm. All over me, John, do it, I want it."

John made an incoherent noise that might have had portions of Sherlock's name mixed into it and warmed his thighs with semen. Sherlock resolved that he would analyze the audio file of John's cry again at a later date, perhaps when he was alone and wanted to masturbate. For now, Sherlock noticed that John was wrung out, patting aimlessly at his back and breathing like he’d run a marathon. When he felt John pull away from his legs, Sherlock stood up and turned, petting John’s hair and smearing some kisses on his forehead.

The two men rinsed off perfunctorily, dropping more kisses on one another every so often. After Sherlock turned off the water, John grabbed two towels and tossed one to him.

"Mmm," John began. "That was a beautiful start to the day. We'll definitely have to do this again."

Sherlock nodded as he toweled off his hair. "I've got other ideas, too. Do you think you can commit time each day to having sex with me in various permutations? It's a bit overwhelming for me, as you've no doubt noticed, but I would like to do a continued study on the process. I think overall that I find it highly enjoyable, but I am convinced that you are the proper constant for these experiments."

John pursed his lips and a sudden tenderness welled up from his throat. "I'm the man for the job, Sherlock. I love everything else we do, after all."

Sherlock smiled to himself, and, with a towel still draped over his head, he placed steepled hands under his chin. It made an amusing sight, and John knew that every time in the future he saw Sherlock in his Thinking Pose he would remember him this way.

"Indeed, John," Sherlock said softly. "As do I," he added, as his integrated circuitry reconnected with his central core. "I'm glad you're with me in this," Sherlock said, and he opened his arms to bring John into an embrace.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonderful fanart by ConfuzzledThingzz of Sherlock thinking deep thoughts with a towel draped over his head. There's lots to think about after a shower with John...

**Author's Note:**

> As with most things I write, I like to draw upon examples from the real world. I have no idea which hair products Sherlock uses to manage those lustrous curls, a temptation to fingers everywhere, but judging by his ridiculous designer suits and robes, I think he might choose something like this:
> 
> http://www.oribe.com/index.php/products/view/45/conditioner-for-brilliance-shine/
> 
> John would no doubt tease him for his vanity if he doesn't already do so. After all, they share the same bathroom in the show.
> 
> Many thanks for reading!


End file.
